How do I keep letting myself get talked into these things? Severus wondered, glaring at the furious teenage veela on the sofa opposite him. The furious, stubborn teenage veela. He could see why Régis had asked him to speak to her, to try to impress upon her how very dangerous it was for her to be here, as an objective observer — attempting to argue with her was like arguing with a bloody wall and kicking a puppy. Simultaneously.
It didn't help, really, that his spoken French was abysmal, and her English barely passable. Her father was facilitating the conversation by translating — directly, rather than using a charm, because they gave his little princess a headache — and he kept moderating Severus's stronger language. As though he hadn't meant to tell the featherbrained child that her being raped was a very real possibility, as was the fact that literally every Briton would hold her responsible for assaulting one of their citizens with her evil dark magic — nevermind that it wasn't evil and veela magic was by definition light — if (or more likely when) she was.
He truly had not intended to involve himself in this quickly developing fledgling veela fiasco. When Bellatrix had tracked him down last night and tried to talk him into helping Gabrielle convince her father to let her stay, he had given her a firm no. Allowing a veela with incomplete mastery of her magic to stay at Hogwarts posed a danger to both the girl and the student population at large. There used to be a mind magic class here, or so Severus had heard (from Shirazi/Flamel/Salazar-fucking-Slytherin), but that was decades before he had started school. He could list the number of students enrolled today who were even passingly familiar with occlumency on... Well, since Zabini and Potter had apparently started teaching all of their circle (including Granger, Finch-Fletchley, the Weasley girl, and Campbell), he probably couldn't count them on two hands any longer, but there still weren't many. He didn't doubt that she would do everything in her power to avoid any unfortunate incidents, but she was a child, and the slightest slip could have catastrophic effects.
He would inevitably be tasked with resolving some issue related to such an accident, he just knew it.
And he had quite enough other guests to worry about, from the incredibly unnerving Avatar of the Dark and the terrifyingly powerful mind mage keeping her in check (and Cassie's very obvious desire to cut their fucking heads off whenever they happened to be in the same room) to the Irish muggle delegation and their guards — he did rather enjoy Síomha but her presence alone was more than enough to put the Headmaster on edge — to Igor bloody Karkaroff. Not that he had any problem with his claim to have been spying on the Death Eaters since they were the Knights of Walpurgis, but Karkaroff clearly didn't believe that Severus had long-since abandoned his loyalty to the Dark Lord.
To be fair, when they had met, Severus had been an angry, stupid teenager, and fully committed to the Cause, despite the circumstances of his recruitment. He liked to think he'd matured a bit since then. But in any case, all of the foreigners — both the Durmstrangers and the Beauxbatonnais — were treating him with what he considered to be an unwonted level of suspicion. Which was annoying because it interfered with his investigating, in the few free hours he had (taking on apprentices to lighten his workload barely reduced it to the level it had been before the student population boom of 1993), who the fuck had entered Harry Potter in this thrice-cursed Tournament, and moreover, why?
He'd had Black in his office for the second time in two months this afternoon, begging him to keep an ear to the ground, as though he hadn't already been doing so. It was not reassuring in the least to discover that Potter's blood had been used to enter him, even if Bellatrix had made a point of destroying any samples their mysterious enemy might still have held and beating it into Potter's head that he was a fucking moron for allowing his blood to be taken in the first place.
It was somewhat reassuring they hadn't otherwise harmed him with it, at least not in any way Lily and Persephone had thought to mention, while they were standing around chatting at the Revel like it was bloody tea time and reversing bloody soul magic accidents like it was nothing. (Severus had never before regretted his decision to avoid the ritual — it wasn't the same without Lily, and he preferred not to risk the possibility of being confronted by the spirits of the innocents he had killed, but he wished he had gone last night, just to see her again.) The only pleasant part of his meeting with Black had been receiving an answer, finally, to the question of why and how Potter had been invading the Dark Lord's dreams. And assurances, of course, that the problem had been taken care of — by someone other than Severus, for once in his life!
Well, that and the bit where the dog had admitted that Lily had seemed perfectly comfortable being dead — if noticeably less dead than most of the Dead, which was not surprising in the least — and she and Potter (James) hadn't had a civil word to say to each other in the short while Black had observed them together. She and Bellatrix had hit it off (which was also entirely unsurprising), and Potter's meeting with his father had been stilted and awkward because James Potter had never been quite comfortable with homosexuality (completely inexplicable given the tone of his "friendship" with Black), and of course Potter had mentioned Zabini immediately. Well, soon after explaining who the junior Bellatrix was and where she had come from, which had gone absolutely predictably as well.
And it hardly helped that Potter had been a Light noble to his core. He'd apparently made an unfortunate comment about veela, and with Potter's thoughts, even in the immediate wake of having been designated as a fourth Triwizard Champion, full of the silver-haired girl sitting before Severus now, he could imagine that had gone over about as well as a lead balloon, to hilarious effect.
Less pleasant aspects of that meeting included Black informing him that no, Lily wouldn't tell Harry who had entered him into the Tournament, because he was more likely to die an untimely death if he knew, and the way he had apparently decided that Severus was his new best friend and/or mind healer, rambling on about how "Jamie" wasn't the man he remembered, anymore — though of course it was Black who had changed (perhaps it was for the best that Severus hadn't attended the ritual, because he had surely changed even more over the past decade than Black) — and how very lost he felt, in the aftermath of their meeting, not so subtly asking for help understanding...how one grew apart from one's former friends, Severus assumed. Much like Nymphadora used to do, back when she'd actually wanted his advice, he had circled around the issue for some time, taking Severus's bland, intentionally boring, please go away I have actual work to do today commentary on his problem and reading advice into it that Severus certainly hadn't intended to convey, as though his words were bloody tea leaves or the like.
And now he was thinking about Dora, which he tried not to do, because her mad scheme to hunt down her aunt and save the bloody world playing Black Cloaks and Warlocks with that demented old fucker she called a mentor, or whatever she thought she was doing, was looking ever more unhinged with every letter she sent to him. She'd been back to visit twice since she'd left at the end of July and both times she'd refused to talk to him about her "mission", but reading between the lines of her correspondence — she would be a terrible spy, as he'd anticipated, the amount of information she let slip unintentionally... — the senior Bellatrix was attempting to organise the Resistance (the loose network of anti-Statutarian groups throughout the ICW) into something resembling...well, an actual resistance movement. Which meant that Dora and Moody were now attempting to infiltrate some of those same groups. Which meant Dora was being exposed far more directly to their rhetoric than she ever had been before, and Severus wasn't at all certain they weren't bringing her around to their perspective. Not that that was a problem, in Severus's view — the Statute was bloody stupid — but it did mean her loyalty to Moody was bound to be tested sooner or later, and he had a horrible, sinking suspicion that she would choose Moody when it was, betray the people she was "meant" to betray, and when she finally realised what she'd done that she would hate herself more than Severus did.
And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, no more than he could break the binding between Potter and the Goblet of Fire; or quash the tensions already growing between Victor Krum's most rabid fanboys and those of the Boy Who Lived, the Tournament pitting their heroes directly against each other in their obsessive little minds; or ameliorate the resentment the junior Bellatrix had been deliberately encouraging among the NEWT students since her return to Hogwarts.
If actually weaseling her way into NEWT Runes wasn't enough, or invading the apprentices' office wing — Severus had not addressed her intrusion only because Éanna claimed to mind her company less than the other apprentices condescending to talk to him — actually snatching the title of Champion from older, "more qualified" entrants, as she'd been promising to do since the very first night back, had definitely cemented her place as the most hated underclassman among the upperclassmen who hated being shown up by an obnoxious, infuriatingly intelligent child. Which was, of course, most of them. And most of them were intelligent enough themselves to realise how incredibly petty and impotent they would look, attempting to retaliate against her, so they were left to stew in their anger, taking it out on each other and generally souring the mood of the only classes Severus actually enjoyed teaching.
Add into that the presence of the Queen in the castle, and the fact that she and the Tánaiste were almost certainly hoping to use the Tournament as an opportunity to have a few delicate, backroom discussions about the conflict between their nations — as were Régis and "Sarah Selwyn", though they were far less likely to succeed — or the fact that they'd already found common ground in their disdain for the Statute of Secrecy (both the muggle leaders and the magical diplomats) and were openly discussing the points where they felt Gellert Grindelwald hadn't gone far enough in front of Albus Dumbledore, and Severus thought he could be forgiven for thinking it a terrible idea to add a volatile teenage veela to the mix, if for no other reason than that she could be the very spark that set off the political powder keg Bellatrix had made of the Castle.
The fact that Bellatrix had offered to look out for her really only made it more likely that she would be, he suspected. She almost certainly only intended to use the young veela in her ongoing attempt to antagonise the brain-damaged children who had thought it a good idea to attack her back in June into doing something that she could use as an excuse to pick a fight with them without admitting that she hadn't been obliviated (and also without Cassie kicking her arse for attacking children for no obvious reason), but given Eris's influence affecting everything Bellatrix touched...
Severus could hardly have predicted that the current political upheaval in Britain would be a direct result of Bellatrix fucking with Sybil Trelawney's head. He wasn't about to underestimate her again.
The trouble was, Gabrielle Delacour wouldn't leave. Her father could, of course, drag her home, but there was no way to make her stay there. Even if the People were inclined to force a child to stay anywhere, it was incredibly difficult to prevent a sufficiently motivated mage doing whatever she damn well pleased. Threatening privileges and future plans had had no effect whatsoever, probably because she'd realised that her father could no more enforce those threats than he could bring himself to lock her in her bedroom under wards to prevent her fire-walking right back out again. She knew where she was going now, and Bellatrix had pointed out for her the stupidity of attempting to fly all the way here when there was a perfectly serviceable floo network in both Britain and Aquitania. It would be only too easy for her to just come back if her father failed to convince her that she shouldn't.
And of course, the first five Britons she'd managed to acquaint herself with were Bellatrix, Weasley, Potter, Zabini, and Black, who were hardly representative of the population at large. It was, however, proving difficult to convince Gabrielle Delacour of that very important point, despite her not entirely believing that Bellatrix was even a real person, which implied that she knew Bella Junior couldn't possibly be a good example of normal British attitudes. Severus hadn't managed not to laugh when she'd asked whether "the quiet girl" was actually a living being rather than some sort of complex magical construct, which probably hadn't helped their rapport. For all Bellatrix clearly unnerved her, Gabrielle seemed rather taken with the impossible girl, whom she had described as perfectly reasonable and rational — which might have been the least accurate assessment of Bellatrix's character Severus had ever heard.
"And anyway, even if the British were as terrible as Papa claims, that is only all the more reason for me to stay!"
"I cannot wait to hear how you have come to that incredibly naïve, positively idiotic conclusion." Régis translated idiotic as silly, which was growing increasingly irksome. "I implied mental deficiency and I meant it, Régis!"
Régis glared at him. "My Gabrielle is not an idiot, and I will not have you say so to her. She is a child, and—"
The girl, who had been looking fairly approving — clearly she understood that her father was sticking up for her, even if his English was a bit too quick for her to respond to — grew sullen again at that last phrase, which she clearly must have understood, as she interrupted immediately. "I am not a child, Papa! I have met the sky—" Those were the literal words, though Severus had no idea what that actually meant — he assumed it must be an idiom he was unfamiliar with. "—and—"
"And nothing, Gabrielle! Your very insistence that you are not a child only proves you more childish in this instance! Having met the sky only means that you are in more danger here, now, than you would have been two years ago!"
Oh, probably something about her reaching maturity (or at least pubescence) as a veela, then. Coming into her power, as the British students would put it, and, in the case of veela — and lilin, though Severus understood the People didn't consider themselves to be two different races, more analogous to the distinction between being aligned toward light or dark among humans — going through the magical (and physical) metamorphosis that made them so very dangerous to unsuspecting humans. Those of his students who had ever heard of veela would probably call it the weird veela sex-magic thing.
"That's not fair, Papa!" She pouted, pushing her helplessness and anger and resentment at them, all the negativity their "unfairness" inspired.
It was probably unconscious on her part, but it was becoming even more annoying than Régis's constant, deliberate mistranslations. Severus scowled at her. He, like most human mind mages, was capable of refusing to respond to veela mind magic, but he couldn't entirely block her out any more than he could entirely hide his emotional state from the Zabini boy. He could, however, magnify and reflect the effect back at her, forcing her to experience her own petulance three-fold — her own mastery of occlumency was not sufficient to keep him out, either. (If the way she projected as she spoke was any indication, veela were probably not overly concerned with blocking each other out.)
She whimpered under the mental assault, fear and confusion entering the chaotic mixture of emotions surging between them. He cut himself off abruptly — it would be cruel to force her to suffer those emotions more intensely. And besides, Régis was already demanding to know what he was doing to his daughter.
Severus ignored him. "The universe does not give a single, solitary fuck about what is or is not fair in your mind, Miss Delacour."
He paused to allow Régis to translate, but interrupted halfway through. "What, precisely, is the point of asking me to explicate the dangers posed by your daughter's presence here if you intend to continually soften my language?"
Régis, suitably chastised, translated the sentence properly, vulgarity intact, albeit with a certain tone of unease.
"And I assure you, if you lose your temper like that with any Briton who is not a mind mage, they will take it as an attack — much as you did my reflection of it upon you. They will be afraid and confused, as you were just now, and while I grant you not all of them will lash out in retaliation, many would."
He paused again, but rather than translating, Régis stared at him, slightly horrified. "You did what?"
Presumably it was some sort of taboo among the People, exploiting their natural talents to hurt each other in such a way. Severus truly didn't care. "You did not bring me here to be kind, Régis. Now, are you going to translate, or not?"
He did, though with an even deeper sense of unease lurking behind his wary eyes.
"I am not a nice man, Régis. I have never claimed to be."
Gabrielle twittered something, fierce orange eyes narrowed bravely to meet his own — not that he needed eye-contact to maintain mental contact with a constantly-projecting empath, but meeting the eyes of a mind mage was almost always meant as a deliberate challenge — and making a valiant attempt to contain herself.
"She can control herself, she says. If she must. But she will not go home, because she— Really, Gabrielle? That is ridiculous! You cannot—"
"I do mean it! Tell him!"
"Because she wishes to prove to the British, if they are really so fearful as you say, that they needn't be, that she means them no harm, and because how else are they to overcome their prejudices if they never—"
His translation of her ludicrous explanation was interrupted by the door of the sitting room they had commandeered for this conversation opening, two girls, the elder Miss Delacour and her fellow Champion, suddenly realising that they were intruding and hastily apologising — one of them, Severus thought, asking that they not tell their Headmistress that they'd brought a British boy into the carriage, and thank you, we'll go now, goodbye — and a delighted squeal.
"Harry!" Gabrielle bounced off the sofa to embrace the rather startled (but not at all displeased) Potter, before dragging him back to sit with her, to face her father and Severus and their efforts to convince her to leave. "I am so happy you come to visit me! Papa and Maître Snape are so mean! They wish me to return home!"
"Ah... You did know they were going to, though, didn't you? Er. Hi, Professor. Mister Delacour."
"You must say for them it is not dangerous that I stay!" she demanded, projecting a quick series of memories at the boy, bringing him up to speed on the progress of their conversation.
"Oh. Well, um...that's— I don't want you to leave! But...it probably is dangerous, a little. I mean, Professor Snape wouldn't lie about that, and—"
Shock. Betrayal. Heartfelt sorrow. "You want me to go, also! I thought you like me!"
"No! I don't! I really don't! I mean, I do like you! I don't want you to leave! It's just... I don't want you to get hurt, either!" Was that... Was Potter actually projecting memories and emotions back at her?
That was...somewhat impressive, really. Not the technique, per se — it was easy enough to broadcast thoughts and memories and emotions for any passing mind mage to hear. Most people did it unconsciously until they began to learn occlumency, in fact. Black did it deliberately, which could make it very difficult to hold a conversation with him, completely aside from the issue of Sirius Black simply being an enormous twat in general. But to do so with that degree of fluidity and with a narrow enough focus that Severus had to make an active effort in order to 'overhear' — that was impressive. Almost as impressive as a thirteen-year-old mastering the Patronus charm, that mastery apparently guided by Magic Itself, if the second-hand memories he'd stolen from Zabini were to be believed. (Severus was beginning to suspect that Magic liked Lily's son as much as it had liked her.)
In fact, it might be more impressive, given that Potter could only possibly have begun to attempt to communicate thusly yesterday. That was, Severus was fairly certain, the first time he'd ever spoken to a veela, and apparently he'd managed to intuitively grasp an aspect of their culture most humans, even most mind mages, never did. The only reason Severus was aware of it was Lily's tendency to do very much the same thing despite not being a proper mind mage herself. She had always said it was easier to charm people when you were consciously and actively reciprocating their emotions (or silently urging them to reciprocate yours) — they call that empathy, Sev, you should try it sometime...
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry, I'm not going to get hurt! And I'm not going home, either!"
"They're not lying, though, about some people being racist arses. I mean—" He projected a flash of Draco Malfoy hexing him in the back yesterday, and a slew of cruel and mocking taunts which had been thrown at Granger and Zabini over the years. "And they're not even scared of us." An image of Bellatrix lying in hospital after being kidnapped and tortured, probably stolen from Zabini, since Potter was busy being "dead" at the time. "They can be much worse if they're scared of you."
Severus was slightly surprised that Potter had responded so easily, despite how Gabrielle had reverted to speaking French — as far as he was aware, Potter's French was even worse than his. He must be interpreting through that mental contact they were using. But it was so smooth and casual, Severus wondered if Potter even noticed.
"This is the quiet girl?" she asked, projecting incredulity along with a fuzzy, not-quite-visual impression of Bellatrix. The general shape was correct, and the sense of wild dark magic and raw power was easily recognisable, along with the sense of hollowness that was her presence in the landscape of psychic energy.
"Er, yeah. Lyra? She was ambushed at the end of last term. And, I mean, she's fine — weirdly unbothered about the whole thing, really — but they might do even worse to you if they have the slightest excuse, and even something this would be bad enough — they used the Cruciatus on her!"
Gabrielle's eyes went very wide. "This is the unblockable torture spell, yes? The one that is like magical backlash times a million?" Severus nodded. "And she is fine? How can she be?"
Potter scoffed. "Lyra's always fine," he said, projecting a memory of her smirking at Sirius over the summer, saying, presumably in reference to the Cruciatus, "But after is even better when you're a little mad. Like, better enough that it's borderline worth it," which might have been the most obviously Bellatrix-like thing Severus had heard her say yet.
"I still am not entirely convinced she's real." Potter let out a startled laugh. "But surely if I am careful, they would have no reason, no excuse to do such a thing to me. And I can be careful! I will not leave, and that is final! And Papa, if you make me go home, I will just come back!"
Régis made a frustrated huff before taking a deep breath, clearly attempting to maintain his calm facade. "Gabrielle. You cannot stay here! I do not say this because I wish to ruin your life, or because I do not wish to see you, but only because I worry about you! Think about Mama and Aunt Lise and Aunt Chloé — do you think they are not also worried? And they miss you!"
"But Fleur is our Champion! Mama and Auntie Lise and Aunt Chloé and Izzie and Laïa and everyone should just come here! In fact, that's a great idea! I'm going to write Mama right now! Come with me, Harry!" she demanded, hopping to her feet and offering him a hand.
He took it, of course, though he immediately asked, "Where are we going?"
"To write to Mama and Auntie Lise and ask them to come here, too. This is the best idea!"
"Is that the Auntie Lise I'm related to?"
"Yes. She is the most cool aunt. I knew she is your aunt, not the third cousin of a godparent by marriage or what you thought first. You have the same hair," she said, giggling and reaching over to fluff the mess atop Potter's head, as though it wasn't already unruly enough.
"Sit back down, young lady! This conversation is not over!"
"Yes, Papa, it is, because what more is there to say? I am here and I am staying and it will be perfectly fine because British people are not nearly as terrible as you are trying to scare me into thinking they are — look at Harry! He's perfectly nice and charming and clever and even asked if there was a way he could learn to fly like me, which is the complete opposite of the sort of thing you say he should have done!"
"Potter is a bad example," Severus informed her, attempting to use small words so that she would comprehend his meaning regardless of whether Régis translated his words. "He is hardly representative of the average Magical British attitude toward anything, including veela." Though Severus found he wasn't at all surprised that the boy wanted to learn to become a bird. He wondered idly whether he would manage to become an animagus before the end of the school year. He wouldn't, he decided, be surprised about that, either.
"The quiet girl says Harry is the most normal person she knows! And I'm sure she knows a lot of people, so—"
"You'd be surprised." Severus was quite certain that if she had truly meant that, she hadn't been considering casual acquaintances. Potter was certainly more "normal" than Zabini or Granger — or the Weasley girl or her infuriating elder brothers, or Éanna, or Cassie and the wilderfolk, or Nott and the Lovegood girl, or Severus himself (he doubted she would have dragged him off to exterminate inferi with her over the summer if she didn't actually enjoy his company) — but that really wasn't a high bar. Bellatrix simply didn't associate with normal people, because normal people were boring (per the senior Bellatrix).
"It doesn't matter if Harry is a good example of British people or not, I'm not leaving. If it turns out some of them truly are as awful as you say, I will just spend my time with those who are not. Like Harry and Blaise, who are very nice, and also mind mages so I won't hurt them when we have sex."
...Severus had absolutely nothing to say to that, except perhaps that he hadn't thought it was possible for teenagers to be more obsessed with sex than the ones he was (unfortunately) familiar with, but apparently he had been wrong. "That is exactly the sort of thing one should avoid saying in front of the average British person." Though if she was so very determined to stay, there was some merit in the idea of simply surrounding her with people who were both more open-minded and more resistant to the veela aura than the average British student.
"Er...I didn't get that one," Potter admitted awkwardly. (Presumably, he had more difficulty interpreting her intent into something he could understand when she wasn't speaking directly to him.) "What don't we say to the average British person?"
"It is not important," the little veela said smoothly, even as her father began to lecture her about whether or not she could simply go around deciding that she was going to seduce these British boys she'd barely met, and asking whether she'd even asked them what they thought of her plan. The answer to that, amusingly enough, was, "Don't be silly, Papa, of course I haven't. I know outsiders get weird when you seduce them too soon. See, I know how to deal with British humans just fine!"
Severus left them to their ridiculous tangential argument, focusing instead on one of his favourite little shadow magic emulating spells, a charm that let one whisper in someone's ear from halfway across the Great Hall — or, if one had surreptitiously tagged one's target with a focusing element, shout at them from a ridiculously oversized carriage on the other side of the grounds, nearly a quarter of a mile away. "Black! Get your arse down here immediately!"
All three of the others turned to stare at him.
"Er...I don't think she's spying on us at the moment," Potter pointed out. "She said she was meeting Hermione..."
Oh, then Severus was probably interrupting something. He smirked to himself, casting the charm again. "Now, Black!"
"Why, Severus, are you—"
"You know, I can and will make your life hell," a very annoyed Bellatrix interrupted, stepping out of Severus's shadow. (He was quite certain she didn't realise how difficult she was already making his life given the absolute circus she'd made of this bloody Tournament.) He suspected that she was trying to startle him, appearing directly behind him rather than in a dark corner somewhere, but that was exactly the sort of thing he expected from her, and in any case she hadn't yet figured out how to hide her magical presence — he'd felt her there as soon as she crossed the planar boundary. "Your Honour," she added, apparently realising that she wasn't in his office, or indeed in the Castle at all, and surrounded by other people.
"As can I yours. This is your fault," he declared, sneering toward the veela and her captive Potter, who had at some point in the discussion of whether it was a good idea to go seducing British boys, even ones who were mind mages and just so cute, Papa, fallen back onto the sofa.
Bellatrix blinked up at him, her confusion far too overly-performed to be genuine. "Er...I don't think so. I mean, I didn't even introduce them, they managed that all on their own."
Potter went very red. "Um—" He stopped to clear his throat as Gabbie paused in her ongoing rant to attend to the English conversation. "I...don't think that's what he meant, Lyra."
From her amused smirk, Severus suspected that Bellatrix was fully aware of that. "Gabbie would've made it here without my help eventually, and why are you even here, Your Honour? You said you weren't going to convince Régis to let her stay."
"I'm not. I was attempting to convince her to go home, but the stubborn child insists that I'm simply being mean to convince her that her father is right, when clearly he is, in fact, full of shite, and all British people — including you — are perfectly reasonable—" Bellatrix apparently found that assessment as ridiculous as Severus did, as she seemed to be fighting not to laugh. "—and look, one of her new friends has even come to visit her." The child scowled at him, obviously aware that his scathing imitation was of her, even if she didn't quite understand all of his words. "And as we shall never know how successful her attempt to reach us might have been without your assistance, I do intend to hold you fully responsible for her presence here — which means that, so long as she refuses to leave the school, you are responsible for her safety and wellbeing. Understood?"
"Er...yes? I did say last night that I'd look out for her, didn't I?"
"Wait, please, one moment, Severus! I have not agreed that Gabrielle may remain in Britain!"
Severus heaved a put-upon sigh. "At a certain point, Régis, one must concede that teenagers have far more time and energy to devote to flouting any rule placed in their path than we have to enforce them. As we cannot force your daughter to go and remain safely in Aquitania, it is hardly a matter of allowing her to stay. We can but hope to mitigate the inevitable consequences of her incredibly foolhardy decision." Pity she didn't speak enough English to realise that he was still deriding that decision, even as he very reluctantly supported it, but— Oh, never mind, apparently Bellatrix found it amusing enough to translate, using a sound illusion to replicate a passable imitation of his voice, even if the intonation was slightly off. He glared at her, purely for the sake of form. "Really, Miss Black?"
"Nyberg, you know, Durmstrang's G.A. professor? He's a fucking genius. Translating things simultaneously with illusions is way less annoying than constantly having to go back and repeat them," she explained, translating her own words as she spoke, creating an odd foreign echo.
...So it saved her about half a second, was what he was hearing? Ridiculous child.
"So, does that mean I can stay?"
Régis glowered at his daughter. "It means I cannot compel you to go home and stay there." Gabrielle grinned, joy and triumph noticeably lightening the atmosphere, before Régis crushed it again. "But if you are to remain here, there will be conditions!"
"What kind of conditions?" she asked warily.
"You are not to go anywhere unaccompanied and you must keep up with your own schoolwork—"
There might have been more conditions, but before he could list them, he was interrupted. "I don't need a minder, Papa! I'm fourteen! I can take care of myself!"
"If that were true, Gabrielle, I would not be nearly so concerned about your presence here!"
"He's kind of got a point, kid. I mean, you thought it was a good idea to fly here. By yourself. As a bird." Bellatrix smirked, still echoing herself in French — or possibly speaking French and echoing herself in English? It was far more difficult to tell than Severus thought it ought to be. Clearly the girl had spent at least part of the summer perfecting her illusions. (He couldn't help but wonder why — he'd have to keep that in mind in attempting to uncover and foil any plots she might be hatching.)
"You do not get to call me a kid, I am not a child, we are the same age! And you agreed this was a good plan! Whose side are you on?!"
"I definitely told you you should have used the floo, and it doesn't matter how old you are, if I'm looking out for you I get to call you a kid," Bellatrix said, ignoring the point about her approving of Gabrielle's mad scheme to come to Britain, even if she had quibbles with the method of travel she'd employed.
(Potter rolled his eyes, commenting to no one in particular, "Yeah, she treats me like a kid all the time, too, it's really annoying.")
"That will not be necessary, Miss Black. I mean no offence, of course, but surely Fleur and the Beauxbatonnais will be more than capable of keeping an eye on Gabrielle."
Bellatrix shrugged, her eyes flicking over to Severus. "So...am I responsible for Gabbie or not?"
"Yes, you are."
"Severus, may I speak to you for a moment in private?" Régis said firmly, casting a charm to prevent the children eavesdropping on the two of them. "I realise, Severus, that you are trying to help, but Gabrielle is my daughter, and if she insists on remaining here, I will attend to her safety. It is not your responsibility nor that of Miss Black to mind her."
"With all due respect, Régis, Gabrielle is not the only one who may come to harm if she is allowed to roam Hogwarts freely, and it is my responsibility to assure the safety of the racist little shites who attend this school. While I am certain that your elder daughter and any number of Beauxbatons students are perfectly capable of, let us say, dispatching any Briton who might attempt to harm her, it is only too likely that they would be a bit overzealous in their defense of their young friend. Moreover, you might wish to consider how it would look if they were to harm a Hogwarts student in attempting to halt an incident between Gabrielle and an enthralled attacker."
There was, of course, a difference between actual enthrallment in the sense of mental enslavement and the casual effect of a veela's aura on even the most unsuspecting horny teenager, but that was hardly common knowledge among those who had not studied mind magic to some extent. Laypersons tended to use the term to refer to any mind magic interference in their decision making, and law enforcement was little better when it came to distinguishing degrees of influence.
"My countrymen would almost certainly consider any such intervention to be an additional unprovoked attack, on top of being exposed to the allure. Miss Black taking steps to halt such an incident, while still potentially problematic, would be seen less as an attack by Beauxbatons or the People — and with the reputation and standing of her House, she would hardly be impacted by any measures taken to punish or censure her. Certainly not to the degree that any Aquitanian student would be."
A note of doubt crept into Régis voice, but he was clearly not entirely convinced. "Be that as it may, I do not know Miss Black. I have no intention of entrusting the safety of my daughter to a perfect stranger. And who is to say she would not simply be hurt herself, in attempting to intervene? Mister Potter did say that she was very seriously attacked by her fellow students only a few months ago!"
Ah, yes. That. "She was, yes. She was ambushed by enemies she underestimated. It is...highly unlikely that they will make another such attempt to harm her, or that such an attempt would be successful, now that she is aware of that particular weakness."
Severus let out a thin sigh, trying to think how best to phrase this. Even if Bellatrix weren't more capable now of escaping her captors in such a scenario, and more aware of the potential danger those particular individuals posed if they managed to take her by surprise, they were far less likely to try something like that now that she had publicly demonstrated her abilities, killing Lord Nott at the World Cup and engineering the capture of several of their older cousins and friends of their families. Of course, some of them would see that as only greater provocation, but given that she was hardly subtle about coming into her power and it had become the general explanation for her presence over the summer that she was a bioalchemical clone of the Blackheart, they would have to be positively suicidal to do so.
"And even were it not, should they, or anyone else in the castle, work up the courage to attack Gabrielle or get carried away by hormones and emotions, I am certain Miss Black will have no compunction about slapping them down."
Not that he thought any of the adults or other visitors were likely to attempt to harm the girl, but he was aware of a degree of ill-feeling toward veela in general from several of the apprentices, and even a few of his fellow professors were less than entirely comfortable with their presence — Minerva, for one, and Charity (she'd never really become accustomed to the idea of non-human beings existing). Dumbledore had a well-known problem with the People in general, and was always quick to defend good children from good families who made one little mistake (like Damian fucking Stryke). Even Filius was unnerved and overly-defensive around them, which seemed slightly absurd given the prejudice he experienced throughout Britain, but such things were hardly rational. If any of them were forced to intervene in an incident involving Gabrielle and any human student, they would almost certainly side with the human.
It also was hardly out of the question that, in a worst case scenario, Síomha or Cassie would over-react if they believed that Gabrielle posed an immediate threat to the Irish muggles or another child, respectively — though Cassie, at least, was unlikely to seriously harm the silly girl in the process. Of course, Síomha and Cassie (and indeed most of the adults in the Castle) could still trounce the younger Bellatrix in a fight, but no one had ever accused either Bellatrix of having any sense of self-preservation to speak of. Severus had little doubt she would interpose herself between practically anyone else and her veela, as she had last night declared the girl to be.
(If he weren't absolutely certain that Bellatrix was blind to emotional manipulation, he'd be suspicious of her impulsive decision to extend protection to the girl. As things stood, he was beginning to suspect that she had recognised Gabrielle as something of a kindred spirit — albeit one who hadn't a shred of common sense to help her accomplish mad schemes such as flying to Hogwarts.)
"She takes the safety of those she is bound by duty or word to protect a good deal more seriously than she does her own. As such, I shall be holding Miss Black responsible for little Gabrielle's well being regardless of whether you instruct your elder daughter and her friends to attend to her as well."
Régis gave an annoyed huff, clearly not entirely convinced that Severus knew whereof he spoke, but it seemed reminding him that it was entirely possible and even advantageous for more than one person to keep an eye on the stubborn little veela did rather effectively undermine any arguments he might have made against Bellatrix's involvement. After all, there was effectively little difference between Fleur minding her sister while she simply socialised with Bellatrix, and both Fleur and Bellatrix minding the girl. And even if Régis was loath to admit it, Severus knew he had a point about the political optics of Fleur...burning an attempted rapist to a crisp, or some such over-reaction. (Severus had not forgotten her brief outburst on learning that her sister might be missing — presumably knowing that she was in danger and being in a position to do something about it would not encourage her own self-control.)
"Very well," Régis ground out, rather reluctantly, dropping his anti-eavesdropping charms. They were bi-directional, so Severus hadn't been able to keep up with the children's conversation. They seemed to be discussing...how the Castle worked? "We have decided," Régis said (interrupting Bellatrix's enthusiastic, "I might have to talk to the elves, but I'm sure we could do it!"), "that Gabrielle may stay." Gabrielle leapt to her feet to throw herself upon her father in what was perhaps the world's most gratuitously over-excited hug, squealing delightedly. "However," he added firmly, "you must be accompanied by Fleur, Arte, or another mind mage capable of breaking the effect of your magic if you slip, whenever you are outside this carriage, understood?"
"I understand, Papa," the girl said, bouncing with excitement. "Harry! I may stay!"
Potter, obviously trying not to laugh under the infectious joy she was spilling all over them, bit his lip. "You don't say?"
"No, I do say! Truth, Papa say I may stay!"
"Yeah, I got—" Potter gave up, chuckling slightly. "Never mind. That's great!"
"So, does that mean you're not moving up to the Tower, then?" Bellatrix asked, sounding oddly disappointed, if only slightly. "Because that would've been a great excuse to ask for a—" ...balcony? Was balcon balcony?
Well, that would explain her disappointment, he supposed. And that she would have been planning to ask the elves to do something — probably talk to the Castle for her. Making it obvious that she wanted a balcony seemed a bit more difficult than communicating that there ought to be a wall through the middle of her dormitory with a ward.
It was hardly important, however. "That is a matter for Miss Delacour and her father to discuss," Severus said dismissively. (Which they were, he realised, already doing, arguing again in rapid-fire French.) "I am still holding you responsible for her safety and that of any other student she may encounter, regardless of where she sleeps and whether she is accompanied by her sister or Miss Cæciné or whoever else."
Black made a face at him. "I'm not going to protect any idiot who decides they just can't help themselves and paints a target on their own arse." As though they didn't already have targets on them? "That completely defeats the point of looking out for her in the first place!"
"Do not be ridiculous, Miss Black. You may humiliate them, cause them pain and emotional trauma, even injure them, but you may not permanently or semi-permanently disable them — and if any of Miss Delacour's other protectors attempt to do so, I expect you to prevent their success."
Bellatrix smirked at him. "So, you're actually giving me permission to hurt people? I mean, not that I need your permission, but as long as I don't put them in hospital for, I don't know, longer than a week or so, I won't be in trouble?"
That...wasn't entirely accurate. "Proportional retaliation is unlikely to be punished as severely as it otherwise would be, given the political realities of the situation," he hedged. "But as always, it would be advisable to resolve any conflicts nonviolently whenever possible."
"Yeah, but, when it's not...? I mean, it's probably mostly going to be your little baby snakes getting kerb-stomped. Maybe some of the more obnoxious Ars Brittania idiots in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, too. Or I guess Fleur, if she tries to roast said idiots alive, but."
But Minerva and Pomona weren't nearly as protective of their students as Severus was, and that she might cause an international incident by severely injuring another Champion outside of the bounds of the Tournament was hardly a deterrent. He was almost certain that was what she was thinking. Which implied it was Severus's retaliation she was concerned about, not any official response. That was almost flattering.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, as though failing yet again to ward off the tension headache Bellatrix's company inevitably produced — though in fact he thought he was somewhat ahead in this particular conversation. It did make things easier, knowing that he was ordering her to do something she wanted to do, even if she might object to some of the limitations he imposed. And she would agree to those, if only as a sort of challenge to make the whole exercise more interesting. "I know I am going to regret this, but if they make targets out of themselves, I will refrain from intervening in their defence. Not including anyone who assaults her under the influence of the allure, only the ones who choose, entirely of their own volition, to attempt to harm her."
"And I'm supposed to tell the difference...how?"
Severus gave her his nastiest grin. "I suppose you can't. What a shame. You'll just have to treat them all with some degree of care. I have every confidence that you are capable of subduing any student attacker without resorting to spells which cause significant harm to the target."
The girl scowled at him, let out a heavy, overly dramatic sigh. "Fine, fine. Not like they had any problem hurting me," she muttered, "But whatever, I'll just transfigure them into ferrets or drag them into the shadows or something. Zee says normal people hate that, but, I don't think it actually hurts them?"
Severus winced involuntarily. Being pulled under the Dark was terrifying...though he had to concede, "No, it is not physically harmful for a human to experience the Shadow Plane — assuming you don't leave them there to be eaten by a lethifold or some equally horrifying fate." That story still amused him, months after first viewing a third-hand memory of the event.
She elbowed Potter, who seemed to be focused far more on the Delacours' conversation, attempting to sort out who was ahead in the argument about Gabrielle's sleeping arrangements. "Why would you tell His Honour I got slightly eaten?"
"Huh?"
Severus ignored their byplay. "Now, if that is agreed, I want your word that you will do everything in your power to protect Miss Delacour and keep her out of trouble for the duration of the Tournament, while adhering to the limitations we've discussed here today."
Bellatrix raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. "You know everything in my power is kind of...a lot, right? And keep her out of trouble is both far too broad and have you met me? Asking me to keep someone out of trouble is like asking me not to breathe! I'll give you my word that I will take every reasonable measure that doesn't conflict with prior oaths and agreements or Gabbie's own choices to protect her from physical and magical harm for the duration of the Tournament. Take it or leave it."
"I am aware that everything in your power is kind of a lot, yes. I'm placing the safety and wellbeing of a child, the daughter of an international diplomat, in your hands. I expect you to protect her as though she were your sister, regardless of her opinion on the matter and generally accepted standards of reasonability in such circumstances. If you have to break causality to do so, I expect you to do it."
Black pouted at him. "Break causality? Who do you think I am? Angel? I don't even have a time turner anymore! And which is it, protect her like Family, or do everything in my power to keep her safe? Because those two standards are not interchangeable."
"They're not?" Potter asked, having apparently come to a similar conclusion to the one Severus had drawn over the years — that the Blacks were meant to protect their Family above everything else, to the best of their abilities.
The girl sighed, reciting what sounded like a formal lesson she might have been taught as a child. "No, Harry. Protecting the children of the House takes precedence over pretty much everything except protecting the continuation of the House itself when it comes to a serious, immediate threat. Oaths to anyone other than the Lord of the House, your own opinions on the matter, my opinions on the matter — all irrelevant. But it doesn't mean you're not allowed to fuck up and get yourself hurt at all, ever — that's how you learn. And most of the time, I let you take care of yourself, which is how you end up doing stupid fucking shite like letting someone steal your fucking blood and enter you in the fucking Tournament in the first place."
Potter scowled at that, thinking very clearly that I'm pretty sure that wasn't my fault, okay? If you weren't always fucking insane, I would know when I should take your insanity seriously, wouldn't I?
Which...was a point, Severus supposed. Bellatrix was hardly known for her ability to prioritise. When she'd been training his cohort, she'd certainly acted as though literally everything she was teaching them was of equal importance, from the dozens of variations on advanced shield charms that had saved his life countless times, to how to apparate in mid-air (and not plow oneself into the ground on re-entry) in case of the rare event that one was knocked off one's broom in the midst of an aerial battle — a skill he had never once needed to employ outside of training.
Bellatrix was, of course, completely oblivious to their mental wanderings. "Doing everything in my power to keep Gabbie safe, or protecting her to the best of my ability, whatever, is limited by what I'm willing to do, and because I'm me, what she's willing to allow me to do, and conflicting prior commitments and oaths, but arguably would mean taking measures to prevent her putting herself in a situation where she'd be likely to get hurt at all, even if sheltering her like that isn't exactly helping her in the long run."
Now Severus truly was beginning to develop that familiar Bellatrix-induced headache. The most annoying thing was probably that he didn't actually think she was taking the piss, here. She was just slightly too annoyed and intense to not be genuinely confused, and she was hardly equipped to fake such subtleties. (He wished he could say he couldn't believe he had to define this, but having known the senior Bellatrix, he couldn't really say it surprised him.)
"Protect her to the best of your ability until and unless she manages to stumble into a serious, immediate threat, at which point I expect you to protect her as you would a child of your House, preventing her suffering any lasting injuries from the experience, even if you do allow her to learn a lesson about self-control before you intercede. Do not injure her attackers any more severely than you allow them to injure her, or allow any other individuals attempting to defend Miss Delacour to do so." After a brief pause, he added, "Unless refraining from doing so would result in an equal or greater degree of harm to Miss Delacour." That should, he thought, be sufficiently comprehensive instruction. "Do I have your word, or not, Bellatrix?"
She pondered this for a moment, perhaps working through potential iterations of conflicts Gabrielle might become embroiled in, before nodding. "Fine, yes, you have my word." She added a few Welsh-sounding phrases and a hand-gesture he wasn't familiar with, though the shiver of magic on the air suggested that, were she to break her promise, Magic would presumably hold her accountable in some way.
He...hadn't expected that, honestly. Given that he knew she wanted an excuse to pick a fight with anyone who would give her one — and, again, his familiarity with her elder counterpart — he would have been satisfied with the words alone. Before he could say as much, she smirked at the still-arguing Delacours. "Hey, Gabbie, come here for a second!"
"What is it?" she asked impatiently, flouncing over even as Régis snapped, "Gabrielle, I was still speaking to you! You are being very rude to your papa right now!"
Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Really, Régis, what incentive does she have to be polite if the worst you're going to do to her is yell a bit and be very disappointed?" she asked, cutting the tip of one finger with her dueling knife — she really was absurdly quick, Severus barely had time to notice that it had appeared before she banished it back into Shadows again — and sketching a few symbols on the other girl's forehead.
"That's cold, what are you doing?"
"If I'm going to keep you safe, it would be good for me to know when you're in trouble, yes?"
"What are you doing to my daughter, Miss Black?" Régis demanded, obviously inclined to stop her, but unwilling to interrupt blood magic in progress, which was hardly surprising — Severus doubted that whatever Bellatrix was doing would potentially harm the girl, given that she'd just sworn to keep her safe, but Régis hadn't really been paying attention to them, preoccupied as he was by his daughter's insistence that she wanted to sleep in Gryffindor Tower.
"Mmm, it's...an adaptation, you could say, of a protective mark a cursebreaker friend of mine used on his sister over the summer, and the shadow tracking thing Gabbie put on the carriage to follow it here. And a transmission element like you'd find in a communication mirror. Much simpler, though, since I only need it to alert me if she's in danger."
Severus could see the moment the diplomat realised that Bellatrix was doing blood runes rather than some more instantaneous form of blood magic, about halfway through her explanation. This was both comforting to the concerned father — whatever she was doing had not yet been activated and could therefore be stopped without placing his daughter in greater danger — and more disturbing — blood magic enchanting was right up there with runic casting so far as the degree of danger it posed if done incorrectly. More stable, certainly, but that only meant that the greater danger was to the target rather than the caster.
And that it was a spell Bellatrix could not possibly have invented before seeing his daughter's shadow magic tracking charm certainly didn't help to reassure him that it was entirely safe to cast. "Do you mean to say that this is some spell you have invented in the past two days?!"
"Well, no, I'm saying that this is a spell I'm making up now, defining it as I would a rune-cast charm."
Severus snorted. Of course it was.
"You are WHAT? Get away from my daughter!"
"Her part is done anyway," Bellatrix muttered, taking a step back and turning her attention to her own off hand.
"Gabrielle, wipe that mess off your face right now!"
"No!" the girl exclaimed, batting away her father's attempts to do just that. "It's fine, Papa! It doesn't hurt—"
"That is because she hasn't done anything yet, you stubborn, silly child! There is still time—"
"—and you were the one who was all worried about me not being safe! Surely it is good, then, if the quiet girl knows if I need help!"
"What would Lise say about you allowing some girl you hardly know to paint blood runes all over you?!"
"Probably 'don't,'" the little veela admitted, hiding behind the very confused Potter to avoid her father mussing up the enchantment. "But she is not some girl I hardly know, Papa! She is my friend! She would not hurt me, I am sure of it!"
"Ah...Gabbie? Lyra? What's going on?" Harry asked uneasily, glaring at the angry wizard attempting to reach his daughter around him, fingers twitching toward his wand.
Calm down, Potter, he's not going to hurt her, Severus assured him. He's simply concerned about Bellatrix recklessly endangering your new girlfriend.
She's not— That thought quickly unraveled into an inarticulate mess of embarrassment, wishing that Gabrielle Delacour wanted to snog him, guilt and anxious concern that Zabini would have some sort of problem with this desire, because Potter actually enjoyed the little veela's company in a way Zabini didn't that of his other lovers. Both of which were patently ridiculous associations. Severus supposed it wasn't entirely surprising that Potter was unfamiliar with veela mores, but he had to know that Zabini wouldn't mind. Idiot child...
"Papa think the quiet girl is doing a bad thing," Gabrielle explained, pointing at her forehead.
Is Lyra recklessly endangering Gabbie?
Given that Bellatrix swore to protect her only moments ago, I suspect the balance of probability is weighted toward no. Potter, obviously seeking further reassurance regarding the basis of his assessment that Bellatrix intended to keep her word, plucked cautiously at a few of the more closely related memories — the junior Bellatrix's presence always drew memories of the original closer to the surface. Severus glared at him, deflecting the probe. I am neither Zabini nor your thrice-cursed godfather, Potter. You do not have leave to rifle through my memories as you like.
Potter recoiled immediately, withdrawing into his own mind-space like a frightened turtle, a slightly horrified expression forming on his face.
"Miss Black is casting a spell on Gabrielle which she is making up as we speak! I beg you, Mister Potter, wipe those symbols from my daughter's face!"
"No! Do not!" the girl ordered him, as he turned to her, still obviously confused. "I trust the quiet girl, she will not harm to me!"
Potter's decision to obey the girl rather than her father might have had less to do with conscious choice, and more to do with the fact that he was a bit preoccupied, extending a single small, terrified thought in Severus's direction. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.
Oddly enough, Severus actually believed that. Potter was, to all appearances, less inclined to use mind magic casually than Severus himself. Zabini and Black were simply terrible influences for an otherwise relatively isolated young mind mage to be surrounded by, shamelessly manipulative and aggressively open-minded as they were. Don't do it again.
"Gabbie! Your new friend is a very dangerous person! You should not trust her!"
"You are aware that your second statement is not logically related to the first, are you not, Your Excellency?" Bellatrix quipped absently, still doodling with blood on her own arm.
Severus suspected that it was her tone more than her words that prompted the mild-mannered Frenchman to draw his wand on her. Adding, "You shouldn't make threats you're not prepared to execute," with that damnable distracted smirk when he did so probably didn't help, the tension around the man increasing to the point Severus actually thought he might hex her and fuck the diplomatic consequences. (Not that Bellatrix was likely to even consider using her position as the heir of a Noble and Most Ancient House to create a scandal for him if he were to do so, but Régis certainly didn't know that.)
"Er...it's probably fine, Mister Delacour. Lyra's kind of scary good at runes, you know. And, um...she did just promise to keep Gabby safe. Professor Snape...would, um, stop her, I think, if she was really doing something dangerous. Like, dangerous to other people, not to herself."
Very astute, Potter.
"Severus! You were so very concerned to realise that Bellatrix had so much as set foot in our home! Surely you cannot approve of this– this recklessness from her young copie! She is but a child! This is madness!"
"I still think madness should be expected from people who are generally considered to be mad... Also, it hardly matters whether either of you approve, it's done."
Even as she spoke, there was a pulse of magic, darkness condensing out of the aether to whirl around the girls.
"Ah! Okay, that is not comfortable!" Gabrielle said, shivering as the magic sank into her.
"Gabrielle!" Régis exclaimed, very nearly shoving Potter aside to gather his daughter into his arms.
"Oh, don't be a baby, Gabbie. It's almost done." Sure enough, the darkness drew together even further, forming a sort of tether or cable between them which seemed almost solid, or would have had it not immediately begun fading slowly from sight. Bellatrix giggled. "Better?"
Gabrielle blinked a few times, inspecting her arms as though she expected to see some visible effect. "Yes. What does it do?"
"It alerts me when you're scared and therefore presumably in need of rescuing. See... Can one of you mind mages make yourselves useful and frighten my veela?"
"Um, no? Why? What did you do?" Potter asked. Even as he denied any intention of doing so, however, he projected his growing anxiety around himself. The young veela, obviously attempting to follow the English conversation by eavesdropping on him, picked up on the emotion immediately, presumably assumed there was a reason for it, and echoed it back, which reinforced Potter's suspicion that there was something wrong, a feedback loop growing between them in a matter of seconds.
A small image of a bird appeared on Bellatrix's forearm — in nearly exactly the same spot as the Dark Mark, which he assumed was not a coincidence — growing larger and more obvious as Gabrielle grew more disturbed. The tiny madwoman giggled again. "Perfect! Or, well, kind of stings a bit, but yeah, obviously works. You can stop now."
"Lyra! What did you do?" Potter repeated.
"What is happening? Lyra, you're scaring me..."
"Miss Black!"
"Whatever you're doing, stop it! Can't you see you're scaring Gabbie?!"
Oh, for fuck's sake. "She's not doing anything, you two have caught each other in a negative feedback loop."
Understanding dawned on Régis — he began murmuring softly in his daughter's ear, talking her down, presumably. Severus was hardly inclined to be so gentle with Potter. Projecting openly as he was, it required no effort at all to invade his mind and clamp down on his consciousness. He fell bonelessly to the floor, the pain of the impact of his perennially untidy head on the thin periwinkle carpet (and the polished silvery-grey floorboards beneath it) waking him up almost as quickly.
"Ow! What the fuck! Did you— Was that a wandless stunning spell?" the boy demanded, scowling from Severus to Bellatrix, as though uncertain which of them was responsible for his sudden familiarity with the floor.
"No, that was an egregious abuse of mind magic," Régis informed him, glaring at Severus once again.
Severus gave him an unrepentant shrug before addressing the boy. "Consider being knocked out for half a second a cheap lesson on the dangers of leaving yourself entirely open to attack, Potter."
Bellatrix smirked at him. "Yeah, he could've made you cut tally-marks on yourself every minute until you fought him off or something."
Something like pity bloomed in Régis's eyes — the sort of deliberately sympathetic expression routinely used when addressing abused and traumatised children, albeit rather hesitantly. (He clearly was not inclined to forgive her casting an untested enchantment on his daughter regardless of how abusive her childhood might have been.) "Is this a thing that someone truly did to you, Miss Black?"
Severus, personally, had always hated that expression. He refused to portray it for his Slytherins, no matter how pitiable their home lives might be. Bellatrix, on the other hand, seemed not to recognise it at all. "Well...yeah, obviously? I mean, I was about four at the time, so I don't really remember it very well, I just know that that was what those particular scars came from." She shrugged. "It's not a big deal. Tally marks don't really hurt. It wasn't a punishment, just a lesson."
Potter, almost as horrified as Régis, seemed to be struck dumb, overcome by a complex tangle of memories comparing his own childhood to the hints Bellatrix had given about hers, regretting that he had ever thought she'd had it easier than he had, with a family who actually noticed she existed and treated her as something more than a servant boy.
(Severus quashed the urge to go throttle Petunia Evans, which was far more difficult than it ought to have been.)
Régis, on the other hand, had no trouble speaking up. "Gabrielle, I do not care if this mad little girl intends to look after you along with your sister and your schoolmates, you're going back to Aquitania — clearly the British are even more horrifying than I was lead to believe—"
"It's not so much a British thing as a House of Black thing," Bellatrix interrupted, doing that odd simultaneous translation trick again. "We have much higher expectations for our children than any other House. Or, you know, we did, when we had children. Anyway, I don't think this changes anything, really. Does it, Gabbie?"
"No," the little veela said firmly, apparently recovered from her scare with the feedback loop — though that more than anything should have made it obvious to her how much danger she was potentially in. "Papa, I am staying, and I am going to prove that there is nothing to be scared of because I can control myself just fine—" She was apparently entirely unaware of the irony inherent in that statement. "—and I am sleeping in Lyra's room, because I am here to experience British culture, and we're going to make a balcony and hang—" ...hammocks? Probably hammocks, Severus couldn't imagine what else they might be hanging on a balcon...assuming a balcon was, in fact, a balcony. "—on it, and you can't stop me. Come on, Harry," she said, flouncing toward the door with her nose in the air and Potter's hand in hers.
Régis let her go, staring after her the picture of a broken man — a father realising for perhaps the first time that he no longer held the authority he once had in his baby girl's life, a note of mourning in the helpless concern he quite rightly felt at the idea of Gabrielle wandering the grounds and halls of Hogwarts, outside of his direct and constant supervision.
"I hate to break it to you, Régis, but teenagers are rebellious." Severus should know, the number he'd been tasked with guiding through their most tumultuous years over the past decade and more. "This is an immutable fact, regardless of the species of the child in question."
"Not all teenagers — I'm not rebellious," Bellatrix said, demonstrating an even greater lack of self-awareness than Gabrielle insisting that she could control herself just fine, bare moments after failing to do so.
Oh, yes, because running away from your entire universe was evidence of such biddability. Though he could hardly point that out in front of Régis. "You have no one to rebel against, and you still attempted to start a prank war with the most dangerous witch in Europe, from a thousand miles away."
Bellatrix blinked at him for a long second, apparently wondering where the hell he'd heard that, as her conjecture was: "I don't like you and Sirius being friends."
She vanished into the Dark before he could snap that your manic-depressive overgrown pet dog and I are not friends, leaving him alone with the diplomat, who was still staring at the door through which his younger daughter had exited.
He sighed heavily. "I suppose I should write a letter to Appoline. Surely you also have duties which require your attention?" If he didn't sound half as though he wished Severus would say no and offer to share a drink with him, Severus would have called that dismissive.
Unfortunately for Régis, however, Severus did have duties to attend to, up at the school. "Quite so. If you would excuse me," he said stiffly, acutely aware that he had categorically failed to accomplish the favour Régis had asked of him. A foregone conclusion, perhaps, but still somewhat disappointing. "Do try not to worry overly much." He had not, after all, made the girl Bellatrix's problem for no reason. "Miss Black is more than capable of ensuring your daughter's safety." And when she gave her word, she kept it — both gods and house elves tended to be sticklers for following through on their promises.
Régis snorted, refusing to dignify that with a response. "Good night, Severus."
Severus saw himself out.
This is a thing I was going to comment on in a previous chapter, but forgot about: In case anyone's wondering, in my headcanon, Barty Junior would have given his students an assignment which involved casting a few charms at a piece of parchment, as some sort of evaluation, and then faked a stumble on one of the hundreds of bloody staircases (blaming the peg-leg, and definitely not the fact that he's always taking hits from that hip flask, of course he's not drunk, how dare you imply such a thing…), "accidentally" dropping the folder with all of the completed assignments in it and giving "anyone" the opportunity to acquire a piece of parchment which had been exposed to Harry Potter's magic, and had his name written on it, without casting any suspicion on himself. Presuming that a confundus charm must have been used to affect the goblet would have been a similar measure to divert suspicion. In this timeline, since he's not the Defense Professor, he had to come up with a different plan. —Leigha